


as summer turns to autumn

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 1830s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Background Lonely Eyes, Multi, OG Elias Bouchard, Slow Burn, Some of you have never read a fluffy fic and it shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: How awfully rude. He was aware that Martin had not had the education he had, or the upbringing, for that matter, but surely everyone knew it was rude to stare.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 41
Kudos: 160





	1. because I am trying hard to fake a pleasant disposition

**Author's Note:**

> This is circa like 1830's, and YES I know every single historical inaccuracy in here, and YES they are entirely for my convenience. I will list them if you ask. 
> 
> Title and chapter titles come from "Two Bedroom Apartment" by Danielle Ate the Sandwich

"Oh no."

"Oh no? What's oh no?"

Tim tilts his head slightly and Martin can't help but look over. "He's down here again. I wonder what he needs now."

The person in question is talking to Sasha, and running a hand though his hair. This is the second time he's been down here just today, but Martin's not sure he has a problem with it. 

Maybe he should, the way Jonathan Sims treats him. Both Sasha and Tim seem to take enough offense on his behalf, though. 

"I'd imagine that Miss Lukas is quite needy all the time. I mean, she is seven." 

Tim nods at him. "Yes, but he's down here _all the time._ I know you think he's handsome, but we got better things to do than to cater to Mister Sims' whims all day, every day."

If arguing with Tim would do any good, Martin might point out that anyone can polish silverware or replace candles or mend stockings. It won't, though and so he takes one look back and Jonathan Sims and wonders how Tim knows that he thinks he's handsome. 

He _is_, though. He holds himself with such prestige, every movement he makes is deliberate and precise. Jonathan Sims is graceful, in a way that Martin will never amount to. 

As his conversation with Sasha goes on he gets increasingly more animated, which moves his arms up and down, which in turn shifts his waistcoat, and like times before Martin figures that he could likely wrap both his hands around Jonathan Sims waist.

Sims turns, and gives Martin a very angry glare, and Martin makes sure he's turned back around to the table where the silverware he's polishing is played out before he lets himself blush. 

Thank the Lord he can't read minds, at least, even if that glare coupled with his train of thought fills Martin with unease.

* * *

Jon never thought he'd end up a tutor to a young girl, much less a young _Lukas_ girl, but with Elias's marriage to the Viscount Lukas there had not been a place for him in his household other than to instruct the Viscount's young charge. 

Not that his job was bad. Marjorie Lukas had been lucky enough to not end up like most of her family members, and still avoid some of her brothers worse qualities. 

No, he had to say that the worst part of his job was how Martin Blackwood was staring at him, like Jon wouldn't notice. 

How awfully rude. He was aware that Martin had not had the education he had, or the upbringing, for that matter, but surely _everyone_ knew it was rude to stare.

He finishes working out the details of a picnic with Sasha, the housekeeper. "Do you mind if I send someone up with it when it's done?" 

"Not at all. Thank you." 

She just nods at him and turns back to the counter behind here where she appears to be making a list of household items, likely things they're in need of. 

He exits the servants floor, then, climbing the stairs and being met with the elegance of the dining room, a stark contrast from the musty and too-dark bit of the house that houses the servants quarters, kitchen, and scullery.

The velvet curtains have been drawn back from the large windows to reveal the back garden and the grounds past it. Elias sits at the long table, farthest away from the curtains. He has papers spread all around, and his long legs out and crossed away from the table. He doesn't even look up when Jon passes him.

But, of course he speaks. "You're going out with your... Ah...charge?" 

While Elias and Lukas had been courting (in their odd way) for a while, they hadn't yet been married for very long, and Marjorie had only been the Viscount's charge for a month or so before their union. Needless to say, Elias had not been looking to have children underfoot and though he hadn't been cruel to her, he had been rather distant.

Somehow, Jon would still suppose he was kinder to her than her own flesh and blood family was. Well, except Viscount Lukas. 

"Yes. The weather is of a good sort, so we're going to picnic and then watercolor. Why do you ask?" 

He still doesn't look up. "Do you expect lessons to take up the rest of the day?"

That doesn't answer his question. "Perhaps. We still have piano scales to run through. If you'd like me to occupy her, I'm certain that I can."

Elias shakes his head. "No, it's just that I was wondering if I might have your company this evening. Peter isn't here to discuss it, but I've just received word that my uncle and a few others of less consequence will be by in a few days, and obviously it is required that I hold an event while he's here," his face contorts. "And that bastard is too busy on his boat to even write me, answer me. I ought to divorce him, you know. "

"That seems a bit much," Jon tells him, knowing full well that from the outside their union does not appear to be a very well made one, but somehow they really do make each other happy. "But I will be happy to sit down and discuss any ideas for plans you might have this evening, if you think that would be proper."

"Thank you, Jon. I know I can always count on you."

Her offers a slight bow and wanders upstairs.

* * *

Cooking had taken longer than usual according to Georgie due to the intricate processes of having to kick both the Admiral and Tim out of the kitchen every other minute. If course she didn't need to apologize to martin, he was plenty content dragging out the experience of having to bring a picnic up to the lady of the house and her tudor.

Why had Sasha wanted him, of all people to do it? It wasn't like he didn't have other things to, in fact he really should be running errands and such.

"Alright!" Says Georgie. "Quick, get this upstairs before Mister Sims decides to come down here again and gripe."

Her offers her a mock salute before taking the tray in both hands and going up the two flights of stairs to the Miss Lukas's rooms.

The door seems to tower above him, but it doesnt, really because Martin is not small in any sense of the word. Everything up here just seems so much larger.

He raises his hand to the the door to knock. He's not even sure he goes through with it, but the door opens, and Mister Sims stands there.

"Ah," he says, looking mildly annoyed as usual. "So Ms. James didn't forget. I will take that, Mister Blackwood. Thank you." He doesn't sound sincere at all, and it sort of bothers Martin, but he offers a small dip of his head anyways and turns on his heel.

Mister Sims closes the door behind him, and Martin tries to not let his heart wilt when he hears him call for his charge behind closed doors. 


	2. because I've been looking gawking at all the couples walking

Thankfully Jon had thought to bring a book outside with them. Any way to fill the afternoon, he supposed even if it wasn't his idea of enjoyable.

He sits behind Marjorie as she paints, painstakingly shading every detail, each tiny leaf on the bush she's drawn, each flower, every stone on the path with all the grace and patience of a ten year old. 

He tries to offer advice on her paintings, but this is the one area where she will not take his advice to heart. He supposes he can't argue, he's never been much of an artist, even if he's passable enough to teach it. 

Academic pursuits are where he excells, really because that is what his education entailed, and that is what he assumed he'd be doing for the rest of his life after university. 

Teaching at the university, maybe. Going through books, perhaps collecting or selling them. It's hard to figure where he would've wanted to end up.

"Mister Sims," she says. "What colour should this flower be?"

"I don't know," he snaps, closing his book before amending, quieter. "I suppose a red or orange would look nice with your sunset." 

She nods, solemnly and sets to work. Jon tries not to sigh, and looks back at his book. It's not capturing his attention like it had before, the dull annoyance of having to babysit Elias through event planning already setting in, and the way she hadn't reacted to his misstep bothering him.

And if that wasn't enough, the way that Blackwood had stated at him this morning, like he was something to gawk at. 

One hand goes up to touch at his neck. Are his scars visible? He swears his cravat and collar cover all of them. Surely Marjorie would have said something if one was visible.

Like Viscount Lukas, she wasn't the most tactful. 

That reassures him, at least. So Mister Blackwood was just staring for some _other_ reason, then. Excellent.

He didn't know why it was bothering him so much today. 

Lately, he has been noticing Martin more, by pure virtue of having to run down to the scullery more and more for requests regarding a very fast-growing pupil.

Perhaps that was all it was. Or perhaps Martin had been looking at him more often. 

Why was he even still thinking about it? The man had barely ever spoke to him, much less said anything that really stuck out, or said anything that bothered him, even.

Jon slowly closes his book and decides to instead focus on the scenery of the garden. 

It doesn't look at all like the watercolor rendition Marjorie is hunched over, soft greens and neatly trimmed flowers are instead overgrown, the product of not one, but two people for whom it's only purpose is a status symbol.

The sunset and (attempted, messy) rolling clouds of the work are replaced by the clear sky of a new afternoon. The beautiful, new bench at the end of the path is...Jon looks from her painting to the real thing.

The bench in the distance, once crafted by a master hand now rots, and the arbor above it sags with the weight of a great deal of vines and sweet smelling flowers. 

Her painting is far more bearable than the sad truth of a more than modest household that can't bother to keep up a small garden on the property. A child's view of what things should be.

How idealistic. 

* * *

Mending is easy, mostly mindless work. It gives Martin time to think. Or to talk, if anyone else is around and not too busy. Often they are, after all they are a rather small staff tending to a large household. 

Today Georgie sits with him as dinner bakes slowly, the scent of garlic and chicken and all other manners of delicious things overpowering the scent of laundry, thick and humid and musty, that Martin had finished some time ago.

She has insisted on taking one of the Miss's chemises, although Martin had told her that it was alright if she just stay and give him her company. Georgie doesn't like to be idle, and she's been known to sit in the kitchen and knit in her spare time. 

Apparently Ms. James had taught her, although he can't imagine Sasha having the time to knit.

Georgie's got sewing down to an art, too. Even being the cook, her stitches are small and even, and perfect, and they will likely hold for a long while, as Marjorie isn't exactly the galavanting about sort.

"You did make sure Sasha knew we needed more candles down here, right? Opening the door doesn't let in quite enough light to cook by, and I can only imagine the rest of the place now that we're rationing."

"She knows, don't worry. I believe she placed an order this morning, or at least I think that's what she's doing. Other than that, it's been rather quiet around here. I...I don't know, I suppose I expected Lord Bouchard to be the sort to hold a different event every night."

She nods, adds a few running stitches to the hem of the chemise. "Well, I might've heard a few rumors saying the same thing. Maybe the Viscount mellowed him out some?"

Sasha or Melanie would tell him that they ought to not gossip about their employers, and while Georgie didn't outwardly seen like a gossip-y sort of person, she likes to listen, so you just had to get her going. Not to mention she'd been the cook in this house long before Lord Bouchard and Viscount Lukas had married and this far longer than Martin had been here.

"Is the Viscount...Mellow?" He asks, tying off the thread at the end of his mending. " I...Well, to be honest I haven't seen much of him. He seems rather frightening based solely on appearances."

She laughs at him, but is doesn't feel vicious in any way. "He seems a bit big and scary at first, but he's really very softspoken. He barely talks to anyone, which is an improvement from Lord Bouchard." 

Elias Bouchard can be..._loud_ he supposes. Maybe commanding is a better word. Or stubborn. 

All in all though, he's not a bad person to work for. Not the worst he's ever had, by a long shot. Even so, Martin's mostly just happy to be in the scullery most of the day, or running errands. 

"I...I ought to not ask, but is that a Lukas trait? The Miss seems quiet, too. Moreso than most children her age I've seen." 

"I believe that it is. We generally only get rumors, since I don't believe that the Viscount's family likes him very much, but from what I've heard they all all very much the same. Lord, can you imagine an entire family as quiet as the Miss is?" 

He can, because it was really just him and his mother growing up, and he was quiet most of the time, when she wasn't feeling well he tried to say even quieter. 

For Miss Lukas, he supposes it isn't so much out of necessity. Or perhaps it was, but not in the same way. He can't bear the thought of her being treated unkindly, but knows for certain that isn't the case here.

Still, he shakes his head. "It's quiet here, seems to me," he says. 

"But we don't go days without seeing one another, like people are wont to do at Moorland House." 

"Days? Doesn't that seem like a bit of an exaggeration?"

Georgie shrugs. "It's what I've heard, is all I meant by it. It's not even the oddest thing I've heard about the place, or the Lukas family, but I suppose don't bite the hand that feeds you, or whatever it is that they say. I don't believe any of it, you know." 

Martin hears the door in the kitchen open, and the loud around of whistling. "Oh," he says. "Tim must be back."

"You go help him put things away," She smiled at him. "And close the door before The Admiral decides to sit on my counter again, won't you? I can finish up here."


	3. there might be an airplane without a pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes I felt it was important to make-I can't find much on stuffed animals pre 1890s, so you can jot that down, the other is that a Viscount's eldest daughter would merely be Miss (surname), and even though Marjorie isn't Peter's daughter, they're probably still saddling her with that. I could rant about this all day. I will save it specifically for the person I bother about these things.

The rest of the day passes without much fanfare. Dinner is a quiet affair, Elias preferring to take the meal up in his study when he doesn't have company, and so Marjorie and Jon are the only ones at the overly large table. 

He feels silly about this, as he always does, so he asks Marjorie's maid, Miss King to join them. She does, even though she doesn't enjoy Jon's company much, so Jon figures she's had a row with someone downstairs.

Just one more person doesn't fill in the large space much, but it's something, at least. 

Afterwards Miss King and Marjorie go back upstairs to get undressed from dinner (the intricacies of such things entirely evade him) and then they practice piano scales with a bit of French tossed in for variety for a while afterwards. 

He sends Marjorie up to bed when he can no longer stand the same eight notes in quick succession, and also since he supposes he can't avoid Elias forever.

The door to his study is open, at least, so Jon is spared having to knock. Elias turns his head when he enters, and uses one hand to usher him in. "Ah, excellent. I was just thinking about music. Sit down, Mister Stoker will be up with tea in a minute or so." 

"Music?" 

Elias gives him a glare that means Jon is (as usual) at least one step behind in the conversation. "A ball, a _dance_, Jon," he says. "To impress my uncle."

That was strange. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but don't you despise him with every fiber of your being? I recall being subject to more than a few lectures on the subject during our university years." 

"Surely you've _noticed_." 

"You continue to lose me, Lord." 

Then Elias smiles, likely because Jon only calls him some variation of his title when he's annoyed enough to bother. It's a small smile, though. Not smug or even genuinely happy. Just momentarily amused. "I was certain that gossip of the situation had already made the rounds. Perhaps I wasn't incorrect, though being that you don't spend a great deal of time with the servants, do you?"

Jon shakes his head. "No, I suppose I am otherwise occupied." Or at least, he spends some time with Ms. James in the evenings, but she isn't much one for gossip. 

"I would not be trying to gain Jonah Magnus's favor if I thought there were any other way, so will you sit down and help me figure out a guest list? Then I will explain to you, since you clearly haven't made the connection for yourself." 

* * *

Martin is cleaning one of the three guest rooms upstairs. The door is open along with the window so that the dust doesn't settle again. Outside the sun has almost set fully but there's still enough light to see by. 

Granted, it should have been done before now, but the house has mostly settled for the night, and he likes it better when it's quiet. Less chance of running into...well anyone, really.

Or rather, he'd thought so, but he turns around, towards the door when he's finally got the coverings off the bed, and he isn't alone. A little girl stands in the doorway, her hair nearly as pale as her skin and her eyes strangely void of emotion.

She's...quite unnerving.

It's absolutely awful to call a little girl unnerving, isn't it? Martin feels just terrible for saying it. He decides right then to do something to make it up to her, even though she hadn't heard. 

"Hello, Miss Lukas. Can I do anything for you?"

She tilts her head at him slightly and just blinks. It's eerily silent for a moment. And Martin wonders if he's just being overdramatic. Perhaps he just doesn't know much about children. "Have you seen Mister Sims?"

He shakes his head. "Have you tried his room?" His room is on the opposite end of the hall. She nods. "And he isn't there?" She nods again, slower. "What do you need him for? Perhaps...Perhaps I could help you." 

She seems to take this offer as an invitation to be more bold. "I have a cow," she says. "And I took him out to the garden with me this afternoon, but I think I might've left him out there. Mister Sims doesn't like me going out in the garden by myself, he thinks I'll get lost, though." 

Miss Lukas looks less like a porcelain doll, then, eyes glossy and suddenly looking...sad. 

Now he feels even worse for thinking of her the way he had. 

"I will happily escort you out to see if he's there," Martin says, smiling at her. "May I ask a question, though?"

"I suppose so."

"What is his name?" 

Her eyes widen a little more, and her excitement is clearly evident. "His name is Henry, Mister Blackwood. And he does not have a last name, because he is only a cow." 

Martin tries very, very hard to not laugh at her addendum, but she seems so deathly serious about it and he does laugh slightly, but manages to stifle it. "Who thought he needed a last name?"

"Elias and Mister Sims both asked." Elias, she calls him _Elias_. "They have both gone to university, you know. Don't they tell you that cows don't have titles or surnames there?"

"I really wouldn't know," it's not a real answer, but he doesn't care take her side in favor of Lord Bouchard or Mister Sims, though, or tell her they were merely trying to humor her. "Shall we go look for him?"

Without fanfare she comes up and loops her arm in his, and they walk out into the garden through a front door. Silently she leads him along before abruptly stopping. 

"There he is. " she unlike her arm from his and rushes a few feet down the path, before bolting back, and in her arms is the likeness of a red cow. "Thank you, Mister Blackwood. I think we ought to go inside, now." 

"Alright." They do, and he walks her to her rooms. "Goodnight, Miss Lukas."

"Gooodnight, Mister Blackwood. Thank you for helping to find my Henry." 


	4. but the truth is darling

Viscount Lukas arrives home from the sea two days later, early in the morning. Not so early, of course that Martin isn't already awake and about, dusting the dining room, but early enough. 

The only other person he has seen this morning was Georgie, actually who had rushed him out of the kitchen before he could even greet her properly. 

She's not usually like that about breakfast. She's not usually one to turn away help anytime before noon, actually so she and Melanie must have worked out whatever conflict they were having about jobs.

Martin isn't usually left privy to these sorts of things, but that's alright. He'll just give the kitchen a wide berth until _after_ breakfast. 

He hears the door, of course but doesn't register it as the Viscount until his voice rings out in the hall. "I've arrived!" Is all he says, and the house (before entirely silent) decides to wake up. 

Lord Bouchard is the first down the stairs, which ought to be unsurprising, but Martin isn't sure he's ever seen the Baron in such a hurry. He's only half-dressed, after all, which Martin doesn't realize until Tim follows down the stairs a moment later with a waistcoat and breeches on his arm. He pauses long enough at the dining room entryway to roll his eyes so Martin can see and smile.

Next is Mister Sims, looking remarkably well put together for this time in the morning, if not still looking exhausted, as he does perpetually. 

Although he wouldn't put it past Mister Sims to be an early riser, if he thought about it some. 

It's probably best that Georgie knows they'll be taking breakfast in the drawing room today, with the Viscount back, preoccupied or not. 

* * *

"You must tell me there was some sort of monetary gain from taking that trip. I know you love the sea, or perhaps the it's the ordering your crew around, but you do realize that your household requires your presence, don't you? Your _charge_ requires your presence, because God knows I can only do so much on that front."

Jon can tell the Elias is holding back the majority of his ire bout the entire situation, because there are guests present in the drawing room, politely-or perhaps just quietly eating breakfast, and ignoring him.

Marjorie has come down for breakfast now, light blue cotton dress swaying around her as she walks. She's practically skipping, and it is so wholly unlike her that Jon wonders if she's fallen ill. 

She offers a small polite now to their guests before she sits. "Good morning, Lord and Lady Fairchild." 

In the background, Elias and Peter continue to bicker, although knowing the troubles they're having now, Jon is not certain he should provide the Viscount the benefit of the doubt he usually gives people Elias decides to bicker with.

"Good morning, young Miss Lukas," Fairchild says, offering her a dip of his head. "I don't suppose you've met our companion yet, have you. This is Michael Crew, and he's studying under the Viscount to sail." 

Marjorie simply dips her head towards Mister Crew, (who looks less than a decade her senior, but with a severity in his eyes that makes it seem not so) waiting just a moment before starting on breakfast. 

"You're overreacting, dear. It's just a matter of finding a right buyers for the cargo, that's all. Why, I've already got one that I think should be quite profitable once I get a correspondence out."

"And how long do you suspect that will take?" Elias is, simply put, going to burst.

Jon is not going to say anything, just stalk down to the kitchen when he gets a moment and ask Sasha what he might slip into his tea to perhaps keep the Fairchild's visit a bit more friendly.

That was only mostly a joke. He has known Elias for a great many years and he cannot say drugging him down to keep polite company would be such a shame.

Simon Fairchild glances over at the two for a moment, before looking thoughtfully at Jon. "You've known the Baron for a great deal of time, isn't that correct Mister Sims? Is this usually how breakfast goes?"

For Fairchild to ask _him_ is something of a joke. Despite dining with them, Jon is not unaware of his inferior status. "Yes, we attended University together. And I...Well, only when his husband is present."

Peter and Simon both laugh at that, and Elias simply rolls his eyes. "I am in dire straits, Jonathan. You would be too, I daresay."

"Ah," says Harriet Fairchild, smiling graciously. "Young love. Don't worry, Lord Bouchard, I have only the utmost sympathies for you. Why, we went through a bit of financial trouble ourselves back in..."

"Several decades ago, " Fairchild waves it off. "You've just got to trust in his connections, Bouchard. Peter has kept himself afloat for nearly his entire life. If he says he has contacts, I expect he'll begin to do rather well in the next couple of months."

"He has never supported a household," Elias says, head held high and tone just as aloof. "At this rate, if the turnaround isn't a quick one we'll have to start laying off the staff, which won't do much towards the rumors that have begun to circulate. And it doesn't help any that he apparently thought it was an excellent time to bring a child of all things into our home." 

This comment does not seem to bother Marjorie any, her bites remain even and practiced and her legs dangle just above the floor although they are crossed neatly.

Without further prompting, Elias smiles, the smug kind, and Jon tries not to sigh and rest his head in his hands. "But don't worry, I've got a plan, of course. I'm going to come into Jonah Magnus's money."

"Oh, murder?" Asks the Viscount, sounding much too impressed with that idea and in love with Elias for Jon to continue to have any respect for him. 

"No, dear. Just impressing him, with the clearly excellent household we run, traditional and practical, and perfect. Do you see?"

Fairchild laughs again. "I think we'd like to be here to see that, wouldn't we, Harriet?"

"Impressing Jonah Magnus? Of course, that will be quite the feat."

He takes that as a challenge, and stands, to face Mister Stoker, who's standing on the other side of the drawing room. "Excellent. Mister Stoker, won't you draw up rooms for our guests? And then you and Ms. James come and see me in my office for the exact specifications for the other guest rooms."

Mister Stoker salutes him, and Elias shouts after. "And no more of that, Timothy! I'm trying to become a wealthy man!"

Jon wonders if Elias has finally lost it, and he is just here to witness it.


	5. the wind is blowing thing around and baby you're not one of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to Donna Hatch...  
Actually, just assume every single chapter of this has been dedicated to some historical romance writer or other.

“You can dance, can’t you, Blackwood?” The Viscount asks around a cigar, his feet up on Lord Bouchard’s desk.

Martin nods, there and Lukas leans over to tap Lord Bouchard, who’s hunched over his desk, one hand holding up his lorgnette. "Yes, yes. I heard, Peter. Do you think you can handle teaching Marjorie? “

He nods again, because if he speaks he might let it spill out that he wasn’t formally educated on how to dance, and even though he understands the principal of the thing just fine, he’s not all that good at the steps themselves.

And if Lord Bouchard not even looking at him when he speaks feels awful, Martin can only imagine what effect the man’s actual disapproval would have.

"Excellent. And you can teach Jon, too. Lord knows he could use a few good lessons, the man is a disaster when it comes to social settings and I don’t need him walking into Magnus or something, heaven forbid.”

“I would be happy to,” he finally manages. “When will Lord Magnus be arriving? When should I begin lessons?”

“Today,” he says. “For lessons. Magnus will be arriving in about a week. This does not mean you can fall behind on your other duties, Mister Blackwood.”

The Viscount laughs. “You’re scaring him, Elias. He’ll do just fine, won’t you. Blackwood?”

Martin is reduced back to just nodding. Granted, he has decided he doesn’t mind Marjorie as much as he thought he did, but teaching Mister Sims, too? It’ll be a wonder if he doesn’t trip over him one too many times and the Baron hears about it and decides Martin is more trouble than he’s worth.

“Good, good.” Lord Bouchard says. “That will be all for you, I think.”

Martin stands on wobbly legs, and brushes past Melanie in the doorway, and she tilts her head and offers him a sympathetic smile. How much she heard he doesn’t know.

Or doesn't care to think about, actually since he's got much more to worry about now that he's apparently teaching Marjorie and Mister Sims to dance. Well, maybe that means he ought to get it over with as fast as possible today. 

Jon is in the parlor, Marjorie on the piano bench, slowly plucking out a simple melody. Mister Sims has a book in his hand, occasionally glancing up at Marjorie, and then suddenly, at Martin, who startles upon realizing he was likely staring. Marjorie is the first to speak, then, before Mister Sims can, which is a blessing, since his fists have clenched at his sides and he's flushing with what is likely anger.

"Hello, Blackwood," Marjorie says. 

"I - Hello, Miss. M-Mister Sims?"

He unclenches his fist just long enough to slam the volume he is reading closed. "What can I do for you, Mister Blackwood?"

"L-Lord Bouchard asked that I give you and the Miss some instruction how to...Dance. For - For the house party? We're - Well there's going to be a ball at the end?" This is going just as smoothly as Martin had expected. That is to say, smooth went out the kitchen door this morning, with the Admiral.

Mister Sims mouth falls open, just a bit, but Martin decides against amending his speech any further. He'll just make a fool of himself again, in front of someone he fancies. 

"I can dance just fine," Sims tells him.

He doesn't look like he believes himself, and so Martin nods, slowly and decides to take a diplomatic approach. "Perhaps you could help me teach Miss Lukas then? Between both of us, it might be easier."

That gives him pause, at least. He looks from Martin to Miss Lukas, who's turned herself to sit away from the piano bench and towards the two men. Her head is tilted slightly and her glassy eyes watch the proceedings with just the slightest bit of interest. Sims stays quiet for a very long time before huffing out a very small breath. "Alright, but only for the fact that Lord Bouchard asked you too. What would be the best place to practice?"

"I - The drawing room, I was hoping?"

He shakes his head. "They're still moving the furniture and carpets. It they were when we passed by a little bit ago."

"The garden," Miss Lukas says. "There's plenty of room out there."

Martin tries to resist fidgeting and fails. "I - I don't see why that wouldn't work, right?"

"I suppose it would. Fine. Shall we go now?"


End file.
